


Read My Lips, Read My Hands, Read My Eyes

by sammichgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring!Sam, Deaf!Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, bottom!Dean, hurt!Dean, mute!Dean, protective!Sam, temporary injuries, wincestmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9244442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/pseuds/sammichgirl
Summary: Something happens to Dean after a hunt, Sam is there to care and reassure him until they can figure it out together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day twelve of wincestmas 2016 for [stephanie-likes.](http://stephanie-likes.tumblr.com/)

They made it back to the Impala, gasping, covered in gore, sporting various injuries.  Not like it was the first time that had happened for either of them, although there had turned out to be not just one, but rather an entire pack of chupacabra.

Dean slid behind the wheel of Baby, and put all his energy into pulling the car door shut.  He winced, as a new gush of blood ran down his neck into a beyond saving jacket from a bite wound.  His head and shoulder were throbbing from where he’d been thrown up against a tree and he couldn’t stop the ringing in his ears.

Sam was just as bad off, a deep gash in his thigh from a claw mark, various scratches ensuring multiple stitches were likely in order.  His clothes were in shredded tatters and he ripped off a strip from his torn shirt to hold against Dean’s neck, applying gentle but firm pressure. 

They took a few moments to collect their breath before settling in for the drive back to the motel.  Sam felt ashamed and guilty – his research had been off.  They’d only counted on the one, and if it weren’t for Dean’s quick thinking, the pack of four would have taken them both down for good.

As Dean drove, he kept looking over to check on Sam, and could see a very alarmed Sam speaking to him but his ears were still registering a clanging noise.  Everything seemed muffled.  He didn’t blame Sam in the least, there wasn’t a lot of lore to go on with chupacabras, but he knew Sam would likely berate himself.

By the time they returned to the dilapidated building that passed for a motel, Sam’s panic face was in full alert.  Dean told him to grab the medical kit from the trunk as he let himself into their room, figuring his neck wound was too close to a major artery for Sam’s liking.  Time for their normal routine.  Patching each other up, some drinking for the pain, and then cleaning up with a brief shower before they passed out for the night. 

He pulled out their whiskey and unwrapped two of the glass tumblers on the table, pouring a healthy measure in each.  Walking into the bathroom he began undressing, then started a sink full of hot water.  He wondered what was taking Sam so long, not hearing any moving around, so instead of starting to wipe down his face and neck, he walked back into the room.

Sam stood stock still, supplies littered around his feet.  His face was all screwed up and he was yelling – wait why –

“And you obviously haven’t heard a word I’ve said in the five minutes I’ve been in the room!  Dean!  DEAN!  LOOK AT ME!”  Sam was shouting at Dean, but the only thing registering on his big brother’s face was confusion.

Sam took a deep breath and walked over to Dean, cupping his hands around his face delicately, shaking his head.  “You can’t hear me can you Dean?”

For his part, Dean watched Sam and felt like he was in a silent movie.  He couldn’t hear anything.  The bell-like tolling had stopped and he hadn’t even noticed – but nothing had taken its place.  There was not even white static, it was just silence.  When Sam approached him in a few short strides, Dean blinked and saw Sam’s mouth moving but nothing registered.  When he opened his mouth to try and speak himself, nothing came out.

Sam saw the growing understanding and fear in Dean, and before either of them could completely flip out, he just moved his own lips over Dean’s, effectively telling him to shut up.  He let his hands move from Dean’s face to cradle his head, firmly holding Dean tight against him, until Dean stopped struggling against him.

The whole time, Sam’s eyes were locked on Dean’s, not letting him break their gaze, keeping him focused on the touch and unspoken words between the two of them.  After several minutes he walked them both over to the bed and gently pushed down on Dean’s shoulder, until they were both sitting.

Dean’s mouth kept moving, his eyes tearing up in frustration.  Sam gently placed a finger on those rosy plush lips and shook his head, before leaning in to tenderly kiss him again.  He then held a finger up in a manner meaning to wait, and grabbed the medical kit from their duffle.

In a matter of minutes, Sam had Dean completely undressed, and was starting to patch him up.  He’d brought over one of the whiskey filled tumblers for Dean to sip on, and kept making eye contact, reassuring Dean in his own way, that things were going to be ok.

The next hour passed in silence as Sam worked, and Dean let the alcohol warm him inside, helping to turn his mind a little fuzzy with the added mix of rushing adrenaline, pain from the wounds, and his distress at what had seemingly happened.  When Sam was done, he again pushed at Dean to lay down. 

Dean watched with heavy eyes as Sam quickly stripped and stitched himself up where he could.  Gentle but deft hands applied a couple of butterfly bandages in harder to reach spots that Dean knew Sam would want him to stitch in the morning but for now would hold. 

When Sam finished up his own triage he ushered them both to the bathroom, where he started a warm shower.  Sam wasn’t sure if the deafness and muteness were permanent or not.  He’d wager on the side of temporary, given the hit Dean had taken wasn’t too much worse than he’d ever had before – their injuries sometimes lasted more than a day, so they would hunker down here for a bit, and if things didn’t improve, well, then Sam was taking Dean to a proper hospital a few cities over.    

In the meantime, he gently soaped and cleaned off his big brother, holding him loosely so he wouldn’t fall down in the tiled tub, then washed most of the yuck off himself.  Dean raised a hand to try and help, but Sam was intent on taking care of him and pulled tighter against him, placing a kiss to a blooming bruised and freckled shoulder.

When they were both clean, he towelled them dry and got them comfortable in the bed.  Dean had let the fight in him go, giving in to Sam’s care.  He was wary and watchful, a bit drowsy from the shower on top of the whiskey, but turned into Sam’s body when they were tucked under the covers.

Sam let Dean nestle in before peppering his face with light kisses.  He spoke words of promise and protection, and even though Dean couldn’t hear him, he understood what Sam was saying.   The Winchesters had always had communication that transcended spoken words – a language built on a lifetime of touch and sight and physical reassurance.  Comforted by his little brother’s mouth, with his hands sweeping over him more in soothing motions than anything sexual, Dean let Sam worship him in a way he was used to, reverent touches that swore to keep him safe. He fell asleep to Sam wrapped around him, knowing that come morning, things would look much brighter in the light of day.


End file.
